


Worthy Of A Crush

by sksai



Series: Worthy Of A Crush Universe [1]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 11:58:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3487427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sksai/pseuds/sksai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam Parrish is wantable, worthy of a crush, not just by anyone, but by everyone at school, apparently. Do you enjoy copious amounts of time jumps, cracky situations, POV shifting, unnecessary original characters, and Tad Carruthers? Then this is the fic for you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worthy Of A Crush

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littlelionvanz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelionvanz/gifts).



> Basically this started out as a joke between me and vanz and is no longer funny. What if a bunch of dudes at Aglionby actually have big gay crushes on Adam and he doesn't even know it hahaha what a joke. Only it's not. This is the most serious creative work of my existence. It's also incredibly ridiculous. And I hope you enjoy it. Especially the OCs, which I guess belong to me? Okay, good luck and godspeed.

Adam Parrish was supremely annoyed. The school day had barely begun and he was already aching for its ending, to be back at St. Agnes. His shabby little hovel of a home seemed suddenly perfectly fitting for his sour hermit crab of a mood. He wanted to curl up under the thin, scratchy blankets of his bed and shut out the world until he had to haul himself out of bed and go to work.

He was being a child. He was so goddamn sensitive and he hated himself for it. Boys were awful. Everyone knew that. Especially boys of his age. Especially wealthy boys of his age.

It was just that Brock Davenport was especially awful. With a name like that, as much was to be expected. But he more or less left Adam alone, and for that, Adam had always been minimally grateful. Until today, when Brock had slid into the seat in front of Adam before class and badgered him relentlessly about everything from his handwriting to his haircut. That was just the type of douchebag Brock was. He made fun of everyone. But with Adam, it was different. If Brock were to throw out a comment about the silliness of Gansey's glasses, Gansey could just roll his eyes and punch him lightly in the arm, and continue about his day decidedly unbothered. Because he was Richard Campbell Gansey III. And his glasses cost more than Adam could think about on an empty stomach. And Brock knew that. And Gansey knew that. And everyone within earshot of whatever asinine comment Brock might happen to be making knew it too. Even in annoyance or even dislike, there was an acknowledgment of equality. But Adam wasn't rich. Adam wasn't one of the guys. Adam was, as people like Brock Davenport would say, trash.

He'd wanted nothing more than to tell Brock to fuck off, but he somehow kept his head about him as the boy prattled on. Smirked at him lazily and and barked out a harsh laugh every now and then, like he was taking the assault in good humor. It was the shame cherry on top of the humiliation sundae, but Adam couldn't bring himself to deliver anything less. If he was Gansey, he would have been silver tongued enough to cut Brock to the quick in that powerful, foreboding polite voice he could drum up whenever the situation called for it. If he was Ronan he could have simply given Brock a glare that would have made him rethink every life decision he'd made. But he was just Adam. And he hated Brock for reminding him so cruelly of that fact.

After Brock got bored with his morning entertainment and flitted off back to his friends, Adam couldn't help but instinctively glance up at Ronan, who was —somehow unsurprisingly— looking right at him. Adam knew at once he'd been watching the entire scene take place.

"You could have jumped in at any time," Adam drawled sarcastically. Ronan grinned.

"I liked watching you making Brock squirm."

Adam raised an eyebrow. What was that supposed to mean?

 

* * *

 

 

Ronan took in the scene before him with a jolt of alarm. It wasn't everyday he walked in on Aglionby's resident fuckboy leering over the desk of Adam Parrish, looking flushed and starry-eyed.

Ronan sat down silently in the seat diagonal to Adam's, furrowing his brows as he willed his hearing to zero in on their conversation.

'—exactly what I'm talking about." Brock was laughing righteously, but Adam looked unamused, eyes cast down at his desk, scribbling away at something in his notebook. His jaw was tight. Ronan was as painfully curious as he was confused. What was Brock doing? Fucking with Adam for the hell of it? He felt his own jaw tighten.

"So who does your hair?" Brock suddenly blurted out, the redness in his cheeks blooming darker when Adam's head snapped up, a treacherous look in his eye.

"What?" he asked, sounding as baffled as Ronan felt.

Brock touched the back of his neck awkwardly, tilting his head to the side and crinkling his eyes. Was he tweaked? What the hell was wrong with this kid? Brock cleared his throat and shrugged. "I mean, I was just noticing it. Your hair, I mean. It's been cut, recently, yeah?"

Adam blinked at him, his lips a thin line. "Yeah," he finally answered.

"It looks good, man. You should hook me up, I mean. You know?" Brock's eyes were skittish as he regarded Adam, an uncertain quirk lifting his lips as he spoke. "My mom always books my appointments for me with  _her_  stylist." He made a guttural noise of disgust. "I swear no matter what I tell that woman all she hears is '16th Century Choir Boy'." He ran a shaky hand through his own neatly trimmed copper hair, as if to say,  _see what I mean?_

Ronan smirked. He saw.

Adam simply narrowed his eyes at Brock. "No one does it."

This time it was Brock's turn to blink at Adam, confused and expectant. A pregnant pause swelled around them. Ronan was rapt, staring wide eyed at this event unfold. He felt a bit like he was watching a train approach a bridge that he knew was going to collapse.

"So..." Brock swallowed visibly. "You...you do it yourself?"

Adam was clearly annoyed now, setting his pen down with a loud click and closing his notebook. He leaned toward Brock, and said, "Yes."

"Oh." Brock said, leaning back, flustered by Adam's sudden movement. "Wow. I mean. That's really cool. That you can do that." He was nodding too much. He looked crazed. Realization fell upon Ronan like a slow rising sun. He titled his head to the side ever so slightly, his brain feeding him the words one by one.

Flirting.

Brock.

Was.

Flirting.

Brock Davenport was flirting with Adam Parrish. And Adam Parrish was clearly pissed. And Brock was clearly oblivious to this. Or too desperate to care. He sympathized with Brock. He shifted his glance to Adam and was reminded, embarrassingly, of one of his many dreams in which Adam was a featuring role. That look on his face. Blank and disapproving. Shame dried in his throat.

"Do you ever do other people's?" Brock's words tumbled on, more outrageous by the second.

" _What_?" Adam's face fixed itself into a twist of subtle, wounded fury. Ronan knew that look all too well. It was usually directed at Gansey when he pushed him too hard about something money related. Everything clicked into place in Ronan's mind, then. Brock was flirting. But that's not why Adam was annoyed. Adam was annoyed because he thought Brock was being an asshole. And Brock was only digging himself in deeper with every word.

Ronan decided that this was kind of fantastic. He bit back a sadistic smile.

"I mean, I was gonna say, if you do, you should do it to me. I mean, do mine. My hair I mean. Cut it." Brock was floundering. Adam continued to stare at him unflinchingly. This was painful to watch. Ronan felt a rush of delight crash over him. He didn't think this could get any worse. Or better.

And then Brock said, "I mean, I could pay you."

Ronan had to clap a hand over his mouth to stop himself from barking with laughter.

Adam was at his boiling point now, and Ronan felt bad for wanting to laugh, but the situation was just too absurd. He could hardly believe it was real. A moment later the warning bell sounded above them, and Brock shook himself off and laughed, like they'd been joking this whole time. "I'm just messing with you, Parrish." he said unconvincingly. He stood abruptly and took his leave. Ronan watched him as he skulked back to his friends, the lot of them shaking their heads in amused disdain. He looked back to Adam and Adam looked up at him. He glowered in a horribly adorable way.

"You could have jumped in at any time," Adam said. Ronan grinned at him.

"I liked watching you making Brock squirm."

Adam's eyebrows shot up, a question. So he really had no idea. Interesting. Should he tell him? How could he? Ronan turned around as class began, tucking the information inside him, he'd decide what to do with it later.

 

* * *

 

 

The next time it happened, Ronan could not idly stand by. It wasn't poor, pitiful Brock Davenport, who hadn't even glanced at Adam since that fateful morning, weeks back, when Adam mercilessly tore out his heart and stepped on it without even knowing what he was doing.

That had been wonderfully awful.

This was a problem.

This, Ronan did not like. He did not like it one bit.

This was Sebastian Alexander Hawthorne IV, the only student at Aglionby who could possibly give Gansey a run for his money when it came to bullshit names, only Sebastian loved his.

Sebastian loved everything about himself.

Ronan knew way more about Sebastian than he cared to, due to him being a tennis player. A good one, he loathed to admit. He'd always found Sebastian annoying enough, but then again, he didn't really give a fuck about him or his English relatives he was always fucking talking about, which was really all he ever fucking talked about. So it was a casual sort of dislike, only triggered when he had to spend an extended amount of time with him.

Now, he felt a white hot rush of hatred, watching Sebastian perched over Adam like a smarmy vulture, his lips curling deliberately over his teeth as he spoke, a permanent seductive smile etched onto his face. Ronan wondered if he practiced that technique in the mirror every night. It was incredibly stupid-looking. Everything about Sebastian was harsh and bird-like, from his long hooked nose to his high, round cheekbones, and pointed dark lips. Unfortunately, that didn't mean he wasn't attractive. He kept his dark hair slicked to the side, only adding to the severity of his features. It worked.

This time Ronan had to hang back, leaning casually against the wall a few feet from where Sebastian and Adam sat, which made it harder to eavesdrop, but he still managed to, anyway.

"Seriously?" Sebastian tilted his head. "Were you born that way?"

Adam swallowed, looking uncomfortable. "Uh, no. I only lost it...recently."

"Oh," he said, his voice painted with affected concern. "What happened, if it's alright to ask?"

"Work related injury," Adam said. "I work in a factory," he added, as if that explained it.

 _Lying_ , Ronan mused as he realized what was being discussed.

Sebastian shook his head solemnly, "That's awful."

"It's a pretty shit job, yeah." Adam smirked.

Sebastian laughed, high and rich. Adam didn't look annoyed. Ronan's stomach dropped.

"It's this ear?" Sebastian pointed, and Adam nodded.

"Completely deaf?" Sebastian asked and Adam nodded again.

"So if I were to say something into that ear," he said, "you wouldn't be able to hear it at all?"

Adam shrugged. "Probably not."

Ronan could only gape as Sebastian leaned forward, his face disappearing from view as it dipped behind Adam's. Adam's face gave no sign that he could hear whatever Sebastian was saying, but Ronan's stomach churned with the possibilities, the mental image of those dark lips pressed up against Adam's skin simmering inside him.

When Sebastian pulled back he was grinning like a demon. Adam scoffed and shook his head.

"What did you say?"

"You really couldn't hear?"

"No."

"Well, that's a relief."

Adam rolled his eyes. "Let me guess. Something like,  _go fuck yourself_?"

Sebastian merely shrugged. "You got one word right."

Adam eyed him oddly.

"Tell me something, Adam." Sebastian said, swiftly changing the subject. "Do you hunt?"

"Uh," Adam cocked his head back, startled by the question. "No. Not...really. I mean. I've never been?"

"Really?" Sebastian widened his eyes. "Oh, you have to come out to my family's land with me sometime. It's beautiful. Great game. You haven't lived until you've tasted my Quail."

"I. Uh. I don't." Adam shook his head slowly, his expression unreadable. "I don't even have a hunting license."

"Well, we don't have to hunt." Sebastian was already onto bigger and better ideas. "There's a lake. And there's my family's cabin."

Ronan's legs were moving before he could even think about what he was doing, striding quickly over to the two of them and sinking down noisily next to Adam, treating Sebastian to a wolfish smile. Sebastian pursed his lips. "Ronan," he said in greeting.

Adam looked over to Ronan and smiled warmly, taking note of the way Ronan's side was flush up against his as he settled himself down beside him. That was Ronan's thing. His way of showing affection. With Gansey it was always knuckles to knuckles. A quick, solid connection. With Ronan, it was this. More subtle, languid. It filled him with a sweet rush of adrenaline. Ronan's attention was such a thing to covet. With Ronan being Ronan, and Adam being Adam, sometimes he couldn't help but incessantly worry,  _Am I just annoying to him? Does he even like me at all_? And then he'd be treated to this. Ronan expressing with his body what he seemed incapable or unwanting to express with words, and Adam would feel the heady relief of reassurance, even if only for a moment.

"Hey," Ronan nodded to Adam, casual as ever, then looked back to Sebastian. He held his gaze for a long moment. "Hey," he said again, while his brain thought another word entirely.

Sebastian twisted his lips wryly, eyes darting back and forth quickly between Ronan and Adam. After a moment, he laughed. "Ronan Lynch, you are nothing if not predictable."

Ronan didn't say anything. Sebastian raised his eyebrows, a challenge, as if to say  _really_?

 _Really_ , Ronan punctuated with the the jut of his chin. Sebastian shook his head and came slowly to his feet.

"It was nice talking to you, Adam. I wouldn't mind making a habit of it." His gaze slid to Ronan's, voice sure and affable as he said, "and maybe I'll see you on the court sometime, Lynch?"

Ronan entertained a brief fantasy of smashing a tennis ball directly between his eyes. He nodded. "See you."

Once he was gone, Adam knocked his head back against the wall and laughed.

"What?"

"Your instant human-repellent abilities have come in handy, for once," Adam shook his head. "That guy's a bit of a weirdo, huh? I thought he'd never leave."

Ronan had never wanted to kiss him more.

"He's alright," Ronan shrugged, like he had no real opinion on the matter. "Talks too much."

"You should have heard the stuff he was saying," Adam went on. "Cabins and Quails and shit. Does he not have friends? Or is 'Take A Poor Boy Hunting With You' some secret rich person holiday I'm not privy to?"

Ronan couldn't believe it. The Brock Situation was one thing. Brock was an idiot. And that was hilarious. But this? Sebastian had been pawing at Adam like a cat in heat and he  _still_  didn't get it? Could he really be this clueless? He sighed inwardly. "Secret rich person holiday," he told Adam with a smirk. "Can't believe Gansey's never asked you."

Adam laughed at that. "Honestly, I'm offended."

"Take Sebastian up on his offer," Ronan suggested masochistically. "Make him jealous."

"Why don't you take me?" Adam asked, a heart-stuttering lilt to his voice that Ronan would have taken for... _something_...if he didn't know better.

But he did. Know better.

Still, Ronan wanted to say something stupid. Something suggestive. Something  _stupid_   because Adam always did this, always made him so stupid.

"I'm a non-practicing rich person," he finally said, instead. "I don't celebrate."

 

* * *

 

 

"So, you think they're all queer?"

"Dude!" Donovan threw up a hand. "You can't say queer."

"I can, in fact!" Thomas argued as he adjusted his tie. "That's what they call themselves now."

" _They_?" Donovan arched a thick eyebrow. "Really, Whitt?"

"Spare me." Thomas scoffed. He turned as the door opened, revealing a tall, lanky boy with warm brown skin and gently styled curly black hair.

"Dani." Whitt greeted his friend with this shorted nick of his last name, "Please tell Donovan here that queer is the new black."

"I cannot actually believe that you just said that." Donovan, whose last name, Yates, was already short and therefore couldn't be nicked. Thus, they just called him Donovan. A name too cool to nick, Thomas had told him. And then Donovan had been annoyed that he kept using  _nick_  as a verb. And then Thomas had tried to explain that it was short for nickname, and that it  _was_ a verb, actually, like 'I  _nicked_  myself shaving this morning'.

_"But the way you're using it doesn't make sense," Donovan had argued._

_"Why do you think the word nickname is called nickname? It's because you're nicking a piece of someone's name off," Thomas had remained steadfast, "It literally makes_ all  _the sense."_

And then Donovan had just looked at him like he couldn't decide if he found him gratingly charming or completely insufferable. And then Thomas had smiled all teeth at him. And Donovan's mind was made up against his own will.

"I didn't mean black, like, _you-black_." Thomas said now, a pang of embarrassment shuttling through him.

"You say the worst shit, man." Donovan sighed, resigned.

"I'm sorry," Thomas spit out immediately. It was true. He had a problem with thinking before he spoke. The problem being the thinking part, of which he often forgot to do.

"Queer is a catch-all term," Peter Mirchandani said patiently, as if addressing a room full of school children. "Not every non-straight person is comfortable using it as an identifier. And you," he fixed his eyes on Thomas Whittaker, "should watch who you say it to."

"You're queer," Thomas said to Peter, to which Donovan looked heavenward.

"Last time I checked," Peter deadpanned, striding forward to stand in front of Thomas, who was still fidgeting with his wayward noose of a tie. "Honestly, Whitt." Peter shook his head as his nimble fingers went to work. "You've got to figure this out for yourself someday."

Thomas grinned toothily at him. "Then you'll be out of a job."

Peter ruffled Thomas' hair and sighed.

"But seriously," Thomas said, "they are, aren't they?"

"Who are what?" Peter asked.

"Glendower Gang," Donovan answered, rolling his eyes. It was what some of the underclassmen of Aglionby referred to seniors Richard Campbell Gansey III and his infamous compatriots as. "Whitt thinks they're all in love with each other."

"That's not what I said," Thomas huffed. "But Gansey and the Lynch guy, they're totally banging."

"No," Peter said. "Definitely not."

"How would you know?" Thomas shot back.

"I just do."

"Because you're queer?"

Peter cut him a sharp look. "Because I know things."

"Things?"

"Things."

"How? What things?" Thomas plopped down on the edge of his friend's bed. "Tell me."

"Why," Peter asked him, "are you so interested?"

"I have a very curious nature."

Donovan grumbled something indecipherable under his breath.

"If anything is going on between any of them, it's between Ronan Lynch and Adam Parrish."

Thomas made a loud noise akin to the sound of a buzzer. "Wrong," he pointed at Peter. "My sources tell me that Parrish was dating some girl from a public school."

"Your sources," Donovan said, his gaze withering.

"Be that as it may," Peter continued, "There's definitely something between Ronan and Adam. When I was sketching Adam for my drawing project," he blushed at the memory, as the project had revolved around human anatomy, and somehow Peter had been good enough to be blessed with the opportunity to have the elegantly beautiful Adam Parrish to sit for him, sans shirt. "Ronan was there. He basically just sat in the corner of the art room the whole time, looking like he wanted to punch me in the face."

"And," Peter went on before Thomas could interject, "If he had, then I wouldn't have been the first person he bludgeoned in the name of Adam Parrish."

"What does that mean?" Thomas cocked a dubious eyebrow.

Peter hesitated. "You can't say anything. Seriously."

"Say anything about what?"

"What I might tell you if you promise not to say anything."

"Really?" Donovan snorted. "You're entrusting Whitt with a serious secret?"

"Uh, worry about yourself." Thomas spat back. He extended his pinky finger at Peter and wiggled it invitingly.

Peter hooked his around it and gestured with his chin for Donovan to join them.

Donovan made a big show of rolling his eyes and sighing, but he came over anyway, wrapping his large pinky finger around the both of theirs.

"Ronan beat the hell out of Adam's dad awhile back." Peter said rather plainly for a statement so unexpected.

"What?!" Both of his friends expelled the same exact sentiment.

"Why?" Donovan was interested, suddenly.

"Because," Peter let out a deep breath. "Adam's dad was abusing him. Apparently it got so bad one night that Ronan just showed up and well, kicked his ass, I guess. And then Adam pressed charges against him and everything. His dad, I mean."

"Wait," Donovan made a face. "How the hell do you know this?"

Thomas extended a finger and wound it around one of Peter's curls, leaving it to dangle loosely in front of his face. "Full of secrets."

"Still doesn't prove they're dating," Donovan shrugged.

"I don't know," Thomas was coming round now, "Seems pretty above and beyond the standard duties of friendship." He looked toward Donovan. "Would you beat up my dad for me?"

"For what?" Donovan scoffed. "Forgetting to put a snack cake in your lunch box?"

"I never said they were dating," Peter argued, "Just that there was something there. I saw the way Ronan was looking at Adam that day."

"And how was that?" Thomas asked.

Peter smirked, cupping his chin in his hands. "The same way I was looking at him."

"Poor you," Thomas murmured, giving his shoulder a pat. "Poor Ronan."

"Poor Ronan?"

"Well Adam is dating a girl. Or was."

"Maybe he's bi," Donovan said.

"How can a guy be bi?"

"How can you be so fucking obtuse?"

"Let's go get something to eat," Peter said, ever the voice of reason.

"Dani," Thomas said as they traipsed boisterously down his staircase, "Are you very heartbroken over the unattainable possibly bisexual enigma that is Adam Parrish?"

"I'll get over it," Peter laughed, "Maybe I'm wrong about that Gansey fellow. He's not too bad on the eyes, either."

"He's definitely straight," Thomas said unhelpfully.

"You, like, _just_ said he wasn't." Donovan reminded him, exasperated.

"I've since seen the error of my ways." Thomas replied. "But what about the skinny blond one?"

"Who?"

"I see him out with them sometimes. Never seen him around school though. You might have a chance. I don't know what it is but there's definitely something, you know, not normal about him."

"Dude." Donovan groaned. "You did not. Just say that."

"Ugh!" Thomas slapped his forehead in frustration. "I didn't mean it  _like that_!"

"We know, Whitt." Peter assured him, laughing. "We know."

"Speak for yourself," Thomas said. "Donovan's  _this close_ to excommunicating me. Or slapping me into next week. I can feel it."

"Nah," Donovan sighed, throwing an arm around Thomas. "You're my problematic fave."

"Aww," Thomas beamed, "You're the man, Van." He shot upright in Donovan's embrace. "Van!" he exclaimed. "Van. Van! Short for Dono _van_. Finally! You have a nickname."

Donovan shook his head. "I thought you said my name was too cool to nick."

Thomas smiled at him, all teeth. "I thought you said  _nick_  wasn't a verb."

"I have since," Donovan said, "seen the error of my ways."

 

* * *

 

 

Adam Parrish was a man on a mission. He darted deftly inbetween disgruntled students and faculty members, hardly bothering to apologize for bumping into anyone in his wake. The only thing on his mind was escape. Escape the halls of Aglionby before—

"Adam!"

He nearly collided face first into Tad Carruthers, who had appeared before him out of seemingly thin air. He cursed under his breath.

"There you are," Tad panted, out of breath. "I was trying to get your attention right when the bell rang but you ran out class so fast—"

"Yeah," Adam winced in faux apology. "I kind of have somewhere to be."

"Oh, yeah sure." Tad nodded in an annoying way, like he was being let in on some secret. "I get you. But uh, I just wanted to make sure you were coming to my party tonight."

Adam stilled, the words momentarily stupefying him in a haze of confusion. He blinked. "Uh, what?"

"Rents are out of town, place to myself, you know the drill." Tad shrugged, and Adam just didn't understand why he was like this. Obviously he knew that Adam knew no such drill. That he barely had a place to call his own. That he never went to parties, that he wasn't like him. Why did he insist on going out of his way to remind him of this? It was like dealing with Brock Davenport all over again, except Tad was more of a mind-numbing persistent gnat to Brock Davenport's stinging wasp of a presence.

"So you'll come?" Tad raised up on his toes and back down again. "Everyone'll be there."

"I, uh," Adam shook his head, "I have to work."

"Come by after," Tad said, "We'll be going all night, trust me. Plus, it'll be nice to unwind with some beer after a long week of school and work, right?"

This was playing out like some cheesy public access advertisement about peer pressure. Tad Carruthers was a parody of a human being.

"I don't drink," Adam told him, certain that would be the end of it. No self-respecting rich young miscreant wanted the sober poor kid at their elitist rager, now did they?

"Oh." Tad said, taken aback by this news. He recovered only a moment later. "Well, that's okay. Not everyone will be drinking. I mean, I might not even drink. Gotta make sure no one pisses in my great-aunt's urn. Again." He nudged Adam, like,  _you get it, right_?

"Yeah," Adam said slowly, "I don't know, I'm just not really—"

"Just let me text you the deets." Tad was insistent today.

"I don't have a cellphone," Adam would have normally been embarrassed to admit this, but in this moment it was a blessing.

Tad laughed easily, like that was a joke just between the two of them.

"Here," he reached for his wrist faster than Adam could process what was happening, brandishing a pen, pushing up Adam's sleeve and scribbling an address onto his arm. "Come over whenever. It'll be fun. Cool?"

"I—," Adam began but relented, anything to get Tad to go away, "Yeah, cool."

"Cool," Tad said again, uselessly. Adam shook his head and let out a long sigh, watching him go.

Ridiculous.

 

* * *

 

 

"What was that about?" Ronan asked, once Adam stepped outside into the sunlight. He'd seen Adam getting stopped by Tad, and he thought surely, this couldn't be another one. Tad was always bothering everyone about something or another. Then he looked down and saw the address scrawled on Adam's forearm and sucked in his breath.

"I don't even know," Adam raked a hand through his hair. "Tad wants me to come to this party he's having."

"When?" Ronan asked.

"Tonight."

"Are you gonna go?"

"I have to work," Adam said. "Are you?"

Ronan scoffed. "Wasn't invited."

"Pretty sure anyone's invited. It's Tad."

"Pretty sure I haven't got an address inked on my skin, now, do I?"

Adam made a face. "What?"

"What what?" Ronan asked.

"Why are you pissed at me?"

Now Ronan made a face at Adam. "I'm not." He was pissed, but not at Adam. He was pissed at Tad for having more guts than he did. And, well, maybe at Adam. A little. Just for being so fucking clueless. Mostly, at himself. Mostly, at everything.

"Do you wanna go or what?" Adam asked him. "I can't read your mind."

"Might be fun," Ronan shrugged. "Still wasn't invited."

"Oh, shut up." Adam groaned, "Since when are you so sensitive? You know Tad only asked  _me_ because I'm the only one of  _us_  he's not too chickenshit to start a conversation with. He's  _hoping_  I'll bring you along."

Ronan shook his head. This was getting fucking exhausting. "I don't think that's what he's hoping, Adam."

"Huh?"

"Nothing," Ronan sighed. "I'll pick you up after work and we can drive to Tad's together. What time do you get off?"

 

* * *

 

 

Tad's house was about as offensive as Adam had expected. It wasn't a sprawling mansion but it was big, nice. Filled with lots of big, nice things. He swallowed down his bitterness as he waited for Ronan to return with a water for him and whatever poison he was choosing for himself for the evening. He gazed distractedly across the mass of bodies crammed uncomfortably close, which was saying something, for a such a big house. How did one even acquire this many acquaintances?

"Adam?"

Adam spun around at the sound of his name, pleasantly surprised it wasn't anyone terrible that he did not want to deal with.

"Oh, Peter. Hi."

"Thought that was you," the boy said, giving him a small smile. In a random, horribly awkward turn of events a few months prior, Adam had been a part of Peter's art project. He was a nice, quiet kid but there was also something thoroughly intense about him. There were flickers of a miniature Gansey-like creature in him, which Adam couldn't help but be fond of the instant they'd met. Ronan hadn't really felt the same way about him, which Adam didn't understand, but Ronan could be like that. Just decide not to like someone  _because_.

"I don't think I've ever seen you at a party before," he said, when Adam had said nothing in response to his previous statement.

Adam simply shrugged. "Yeah, it's not really my thing."

"What brings you here, then? On this night of all nights?" He leaned into Adam as he spoke, swaying a bit. Tipsy, Adam realized, is what the kid was.  _Too young_ , his brain immediately tsked, and then he felt like a crotchety old man and banished the thought away.

"Ah, I'm..." God, let no one else be close enough to witness what he was about to say next, "I'm friends with Tad."

"Oh," Peter nodded. "Cool."

"These are my friends!" he said, beaming with a sudden burst of energy as he looked back and forth to the two boys that stood behind him. "This is Whitt," Peter pointed at the shorter one with neatly trimmed hair the color of coffee grounds.

"A-dam Par-rish." the boy drawled, with an animated shake of his head. "The man, the myth, the legend."

Adam barked out a surprised laugh. "What?"

Peter immediately flushed red in the face. "Don't mind him. He's drunk. This is Van!" He nodded to the handsome, sharply dressed dark skinned boy to his other side. Van extended his hand for Adam to shake.

"Nice to meet you," he said. "I'm the DD tonight." He threw his friends a withering sideways glance. "Obviously."

"You too," Adam nodded, chuckling softly. "So," he turned his attention back to Peter. "How did your project end up turning out?"

"Oh, it was great!" Peter brightened at the mention of it. "I mean, I got a good grade. And a lot of positive feedback. Especially on the piece I did of, um, you."

"Wow," Adam said, "That's great. You should send me a copy of it."

Peter looked surprised. "Really?"

"I'd like one, if you want to, that is. I could pay you for the printing cost."

"Your first official paycheck as an artist, Dani!" The boy who'd been introduced as Whitt exclaimed, clapping his friend on the shoulder. Peter gave Adam a sheepish look and finally nodded and said, "Um, yeah, that would be fine."

"Actually," Adam said, thinking better on his offer. "Whatever you wanna charge me is fine with me. I mean, it's your art." Adam knew a boy like Peter hardly needed the money. But he liked Peter. And he knew he was passionate about his artwork. He knew what it would mean to him to have someone validating his hard work and he was more than happy to be that person.

Suddenly all three boys got these awestruck looks on their faces, their gaze fixed directly to Adam's left. He turned to see Ronan standing there, a red solo cup and a bottle of water in his hands. He eyed the boys in front of them evenly.

"Took you long enough," Adam scoffed, grabbing the bottle from Ronan. He turned to the boys. "You remember Peter. These are his friends, Whitt and Van, right?"

"Nice names." Ronan's lip curled.

"Thanks!" Whitt lifted his own cup toward Ronan, "I've always heard you were quite the smartass. But that's fine with me. So am I."

Adam let out a burst of shocked laughter. Peter, poor Peter, looked mortified. "I'm sorry," he told Ronan quickly. "He's drunk, he's  _really_  drunk. He's being a dick." He shot Whitt a hard look.

For a moment Ronan just stared at them, then, surprisingly, let out a laugh of his own. He knocked his cup against Whitt's and said, "Fair enough. From one smartass to another." Ronan took a long gulp of his drink, Whitt looked to be completely downing the rest of his.

"So," Whitt said once he'd finished, "Can I ask you guys something?"

Van and Peter exchanged harrowing glances. Ronan and Adam exchanged a glance of their own. "Sure," Adam said.

"When it comes to the spectrum of sexual identity—"

"Okay," Van stepped around to take Whitt by the shoulders. "Time to go before you can embarrass yourself any further, my friend."

Whitt whined in that boisterously offended drunk-person way as Van dragged him out of earshot. Peter threw one last apologetic glance toward Ronan and Adam, mumbled that he'd be in touch about the artwork, and stumbled away after his friends.

Ronan shook his head and made a sucking sound with his teeth. "Kids today." He took another swig of his drink.

"Hope you're not planning on having more than that." Adam said, "You're still driving me back to St. Agnes when we're done here. And then driving yourself back to Monmouth. Or wherever it is the night takes you."

"Are you insinuating that I have loose morals, Parrish?"

"I'm only taking necessary precautions, Lynch."

"Fuck," Ronan said, his head perking up like a dog's at the blaring sound that erupted from all around them as a very violent, electronic riff began to play. "This is a good song."

"Can this really be classified as a song?" Adam had to shout his reply.

Ronan threw his head back and laughed. "Fuck you."

Then he said two words that if Adam hadn't been here in the flesh to witness them, he never would have believed they'd come out of Ronan Lynch's mouth in a million years.

"Let's dance."

"Dance?!" Adam felt his eyebrows shoot up. "How does one dance to dial-up internet?"

"This is the easiest kind of music to dance to," Ronan informed him, his body already subtly moving effortlessly to the thumping backbeat of the music. Adam wondered if this was what the inside of Ronan's head sounded like. Perfectly organized chaos.

"Don't just stand there," Ronan said, losing himself more and more into the waves of the music as he spoke, to which Adam found alarmingly compelling to witness. "You look stupid."

"Would you like a mirror?" Adam shouted back, but Ronan really didn't look stupid, at all.

Ronan shook his head, moving farther and farther away from him, closer to the music's source, his body a fluid stream of motion as he went.

Adam watched him for awhile, not knowing whether to feel slightly embarrassed or slightly awed. Dancing was an act that required a rather strong lack of inhibition. It didn't surprise him Ronan was so good at it. It was just weird seeing it happen, it felt inappropriately intimate, like watching someone undress without them knowing it. But then again, Ronan didn't seem to care who was watching him, which in a way only made it worse.

In a sudden, wind-knocking moment, Adam was enveloped from behind, staggering as two hands tugged on his shirt.

"Adaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaam," an all too familiar voice slurred, unfortunately, in his hearing ear. "I'm so fucking glad you're here."

"Tad," Adam attempted to untangle himself from the very inebriated boy that clung to him. "Hey. Yeah."

Tad smiled up at him. "Are you having a good time?"

"I kind of just got here."

"You want a drink?"

"I've got a water."

"Shit." Tad cursed. "Yeah, I forgot. You don't drink. I remember."

Adam nodded, desperately looking around for Ronan, he wasn't in the same spot he'd been watching him in just a minute ago.

"Looking for someone?" Tad asked, an odd note of suggestion in his voice.

"Uh, Ronan's around here somewhere." Adam glanced back to Tad. "I'm trying to keep some semblance of an eye on him. He's my ride."

"Oh." Tad said. And then, "Well, if you can't find him, you can just crash here."

"I have to work in the morning."

"Oh." Tad said again. And then, "Well I could take you."

"I'm sure I'll find Ronan before then," Adam said, and Tad didn't say anything.

Instead he simply swayed on his feet, his eyes fluttering wildly, the look in them dizzy and unfocused. He took a long, sloppy drink of the beer in his hand.

"Um." Adam said, "I think you might wanna slow down, man."

"Nah," Tad said, still swaying in a way that made Adam nervous. "I'm good. I'm great." He smiled at Adam again, though this time it looked much more like a grimace of pain.

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Well," Adam said, "I think I'm gonna go make sure Ronan isn't doing anything I'll have to bail him out of jail for later."

"Actually," Tad's voice was watery as the boy suddenly sagged against him. "I don't think I'm so good, man."

Adam closed his eyes tightly, damning his abhorrent luck, but slid an arm around Tad all the same. He feared he already knew the answer to his question, "Are you gonna be sick?"

"Bathroom," was all Tad said in a breathy reply, "Upstairs. In my room."

Adam directed him toward the large staircase a few yards to their right, all but carrying Tad up them once they got there.

Tad's bedroom was not was Adam was expecting. Boys like Tad kept their walls smothered in crinkly ripped out pages from various Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Editions. Boys like Tad had rooms that smelled suspiciously like Pizza Rolls. Boys like Tad used their floors as their closets. And their trash cans.

Only, apparently not.

Tad's room was fairly minimalist, white walls and and dark glossy hardwood floor. The walls were bare except for a few framed photographs, some of which Adam recognized. Famous ones. Some he didn't. The bed was basic enough, full-sized, black and white striped sheets. A jade green lamp sat on a dark wooden night stand, the most colorful thing in the room. It was a really nice room. Nicer than anything Adam had ever slept in, but simple. Unassuming. Adam would not use any of those adjectives to describe Tad Carruthers.

Tad slunk down to the floor in front of his bed, his head lolling to the side like a rag doll.

"Uh, Tad?" Adam said. "I know you're...not feeling well but if you're going to throw up you should probably—"

"I'm not gonna," Tad breathed out, his head rolling back up to look at Adam, the act clearly getting the better of him. He blinked his eyes and took a deep breath. "I think I just...I just need to sit here for a second."

Adam was so uncomfortable. Tad wasn't even his friend, or even someone he particularly liked, but he couldn't just...leave him to get sick all over himself and his nice, simple, unassuming room alone. With a resigned sigh, he sat down next to Tad on the floor. He opened his bottle of water and handed it to him. "Here. Start sipping on this. Slowly."

Tad took the bottle and did as he was instructed.

"So," Tad said after a moment of silence. "You must really hate me right about now."

Adam turned to him. "What?"

"You're all, like, against drinking and stuff. And I'm all, like, so drunk." He shrugged. "Awkward."

It was awkward, sitting next to Tad in his room like this. But not for the reasons Tad apparently thought. "I'm not really  _against_  drinking," Adam corrected him. "I just don't drink. It's a personal choice."

"Oh." Tad said. Then he said, "That's cool. You're so cool, Adam."

"Don't be an asshole, Tad." Adam scoffed. "You're talking to the guy who just carried your drunk ass up a whole flight of stairs."

"I—" Tad looked at Adam, confused, then away. "I wasn't..." He trailed off, never finishing his thought. "Well, thanks for helping me up here, anyway." he finally said.

"No problem," Adam said, even though it felt like one.

"I just meant," Tad said each word slowly, "That you're, you know, like...I think it's cool how you...you don't care what anyone thinks." He poked himself in the chest. "Me, I care about what everybody thinks."

"What makes you think I don't care what people think?" Adam was startled by that assessment of his character. It couldn't have been further from the truth.

"You're just so sure of yourself," Tad went on his slurry drunk, dreamy sort of voice. "You just like, show up to school, and you get good grades, and you've got your friends, and you don't get caught up in all the...Aglionby bullshit."

"Aglionby bullshit?" Adam asked.

"You know what I mean," Tad groaned. "Everyone always trying to fucking one-up each other about the most...the most...unimportant shit. Cars, vacations, clothes. Who fucking cares?"

Adam couldn't believe what he was hearing. Tad Carruthers had hidden depths.  _Amazing_ , he mused sarcastically. He would have been charmed if he hadn't been so bitter. The whole  _oh woe is me, it's such a bother to be rich_  thing was pretty played out as far as he was concerned.

"Well, Tad," Adam said, "I'm pretty sure you're well aware I don't really have a choice in that matter. I've never been outside the state in my life. I only recently got a car of my own, which is a piece of crap, and the vast majority of my clothes are secondhand. I live in a tiny, one room apartment above a church. Somehow I don't think any of that that would be scintillating brunch conversation."

Tad laughed. "See? That's what I mean."

Adam didn't see.

"All that might be true," Tad continued, "and everyone might know it, but, you could act all fake and shit. Kiss people's asses. But you don't." He scoffed. "Me, on the other hand..." He shook his head. "Anyway, you're a cool guy, Parrish. You're just gonna have to deal with it."

Adam was struck by the genuineness in Tad's voice, and was still pondering the implications of that when Tad leaned forward, pressing his lips to his.

Tad was kissing him. He realized that a few seconds later than he should have. He sat there, frozen, while Tad's mouth moved slowly against his, and then he made the mistake of opening his mouth to speak, which Tad only took as an invitation to kiss him harder, sliding his tongue into Adam's mouth, tasting of beer and cinnamon.

Adam was prone with panic. Finally, finally, he managed to regain control of his limbs and pushed Tad away as gently as he could, which was admittedly not very. Adam had never in his life been on the receiving end of unwanted affection from another person, and it was surprisingly terrifying.

For a moment both boys just stared at each other, not saying anything. Tad covered his face with his hands. "I—oh my God. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He continued to splutter a barrage of apologies. "I don't know why I—shit. Shit. Please just forget that happened. I'm sorry."

"It's...it's..." Adam struggled, "It's okay, Tad. Um. You're really drunk. I don't think you know what you're doing."

"Please don't tell anyone," Tad begged in an agonized whisper, "Please don't. If anyone at school found out..." his anxiety seemed to spike suddenly, "if my _parents_ found out. God. They'd cut me off. They'd kick me out."

"I'm not going to tell anyone, Tad. Calm down."

Then Tad started a new fumbling string of apologies, and Adam just wanted to get away from him. He felt terrible about it, but he couldn't help it. Tad was a mess, but he was shaken up, himself. He needed to get out of this room. Out of this house. He needed to find Ronan.

"Sometimes I feel like everybody already knows," Tad said, very quietly. "I know I'm being paranoid but then I think, maybe I'm not. Every time time someone says the word gay around me, my heart stops for a second.  _Stop acting so gay, Tad. Don't be such a homo._ And I have to laugh, and act offended, but not too offended or then that will just make it obvious. " He gave a shrill, bordering on hysterical laugh.

Jesus Christ. Adam was really not equipped to deal with this. "Guys are always saying that shit," Adam told him, "It doesn't mean anything. And fuck them, anyway. Your real friends aren't going to judge you, and the ones who do aren't worth your time." It was cheesy, generic sounding advice. But it was all Adam had to offer.

"I'm not sure if I have any real friends," Tad said.

"I'm sure that's not true," Adam said, though in all honesty, he wasn't. He hoped, for Tad's sake, he did.

And then Tad said the worst possible thing, "Adam. Listen. I really like you—"

"Tad." Adam couldn't hear it. "I...I'm sorry, but-" he didn't really know how to finish that sentence. "I'm sorry." And he really was. Tad was going through something really hard and he clearly didn't have anyone to talk to about it with. Adam just really didn't think he was the person for the job.

Tad looked at him for a long moment, the most serious expression he'd ever seen on his face, and said, "Adam, if I ask you something, will you answer me honestly?"

Adam sighed heavily, fear and knowing knotting inside him. "Okay," he finally said.

"You pushed me away."

Adam waited, anxiously, for Tad to continue.

"Is it because you're not into guys?" Tad asked him, "Or is it because you're not into  _me_?"

Adam opened his mouth but no sound came out. He exhaled shakily and looked away.

"Yeah," he could see Tad nodding out of the corner of his eye. "That's what I thought."

"You can leave if you want," Tad told him, standing wobbly to his feet and stumbling toward the bathroom. "I'm gonna go throw up now."

 

* * *

 

 

"Where the hell have you been?" was Ronan's gruff remark as soon as Adam was upon him.

"Please tell me you're okay to drive." Adam sighed. "I'm in need of a quick getaway."

Ronan raised his eyebrows. "What have you done?"

"Nothing," Adam retorted defensively.  _Had_ he done something? Had he...led Tad on or something? Jesus, even just the thought sounded ridiculous inside his head. Still, guilt soured his stomach. "I just want to go."

"Someone said they saw you go upstairs," Ronan said. "I figured you were in the bathroom or something. But clearly you've been up to some mischief."

Adam was in no mood. "Ronan, please."

"You smell like beer," Ronan noted, surprised. "What  _have_ you been doing?"

"Nothing!" Adam said for the second time. "It's late and I'm tired and I have to work in the morning. I just don't want to be here anymore, okay?"

Ronan stared at him a moment, acutely appraising. Then simply said, "Whatever, Parrish." and headed toward the door.

 

* * *

 

 

The car ride back to St. Agnes was long and silent. Ronan was anxious. He kept both hands firmly glued to the steering wheel, eyes glued straight ahead. He couldn't look at Adam. His mind hurtled through a series of stomach-turning images, Adam upstairs with some pretty girl's hands on his chest, talking loud and close in his ear, letting her head fall onto his shoulder, Adam's arms around her waist. Lips finding each other in the dark. He drove faster.

Adam made no move to get out once they arrived. Ronan let his head fall back against the headrest of his car seat.

"Do you wanna come up?" Adam finally spoke into the silence.

Ronan swallowed the lump in his throat. "I thought you were tired."

He heard the soft thump of Adam's head hitting his own headrest.

He could feel Adam's gaze on on him, then. He turned slowly to face him. There was something surprisingly vulnerable in his eyes. Almost pleading. Ronan almost felt like he was doing it on purpose, if that was even possible. Like it was Adam's way of silently communicating, the way a dog might pull on your pants leg with its mouth.

Ronan opened the driver's side door without another word.

The apartment seemed even smaller than usual. The cold, stale air inside it was stifling. Adam immediately kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto his bed. Ronan tentatively took a seat on the edge of it, unsure of himself, of this. What was happening?

Adam threw his arm over his eyes, the movement causing his shirt to ride up a tantalizing inch or two. He could see soft-looking, flat, tanned skin. He could see a navel. He could see hair. He was glad Adam couldn't see him as he stared shamelessly.

"I gotta tell you somethin," Adam's voice was scratchy and Henrietta-laced. "But I'm not sure how you're gonna react to it."

Ronan looked away from him and wrung his hands together. He didn't have any idea what Adam was going to say, but that preamble did not sound promising.

"Why do you want to tell me, then?" he asked.

"Lay down," Adam commanded him suddenly, patting the empty bed space next to him. "You're making me anxious, sitting there like that."

"You're making  _me_  anxious," Ronan groaned, flopping back onto the bed beside Adam. It wasn't the first time they'd been side by side in his bed like this. In the past months the two of them had grown steadily closer and closer, a chord of tension between them that pulled tighter and tighter every day. But Ronan's heart was still beating hard in his chest, his stomach tight, nerves buzzing. He didn't know what this was to Adam. He didn't know if Adam even knew it was anything to him. He felt so obvious. But given Adam's track record with this sort of thing, as Ronan had been witnessing, maybe Adam truly had no idea how Ronan felt about him.

Ronan would go back and forth on the matter multiple times per day:  _He never wanted Adam to know. He couldn't stand another second without telling him. He was certain Adam knew and was just playing dumb. He was pretty sure Adam had no idea._

Ronan couldn't help but lose himself sometimes in shameful, wild fantasies of Adam knowing how he felt and feeling the exact same way. Sometimes the fantasies didn't even feel all that wild. The way Adam would look at him, the way Adam would say things sometimes, the way he'd react to things Ronan said. Always finding excuses to touch, to be near. Well, maybe that was just Ronan. But Adam didn't seem to mind. Was it really so ridiculous to imagine this wasn't so one-sided?

"Tad kissed me." Adam said.

Jealousy was such an instantaneous emotion. It chilled Ronan's blood.

"When?" He couldn't hide his shock, but he tried to keep his tone passive.

"Tonight." Adam said.

The barrage of images Ronan had suffered in the car were back now, only clearer, with a new face and body attached. He scoffed. "So that's what you were doing."

"Don't joke." He could hear the eyeroll in Adam's voice. "I'm traumatized."

Ronan didn't know what to say to that. He just did not know what to say.

"I feel really bad," Adam went on, "I mean I just...I was so shocked...and he...I never...I didn't even know—" he sighed. "I don't know. I don't know. I feel really bad about it. I think I upset him. I don't know. I just didn't know what to do."

"I mean, it's not really your fault." Ronan said slowly, still at a loss. "I'm guessing...he was drunk?" Or just had way bigger balls than Ronan had previously given him credit for.

"Very," Adam said.

Ronan made a non-committal noise. "Some guys are just like that, I don't know. He probably won't even remember it by tomorrow." Ronan somehow doubted that, but he definitely knew if Tad had fucking kissed Adam and Adam hadn't reciprocated, he'd probably never dare to speak to him again.

"It wasn't exactly like that," Adam said. "He—you're not gonna say anything to anyone, are you?"

"The fuck would I tell?" Ronan huffed.

"He basically, like, came out of the closet to me." Adam said quietly. "It was a mess. I mean, he was kind of a mess."

Ronan snorted. "Way harsh, Tai."

"Fuck," Adam spat. "See? I totally fucked up, Ronan. I should have handled the situation better but I just...he just  _kissed_  me and I didn't know what the hell to do."

"Relax, Parrish." Ronan chuckled, forcing himself to find brevity in the situation lest he lose his mind. Someone else had kissed Adam. A boy had kissed Adam. A boy had kissed Adam and Adam  _had not liked it_. He was not anywhere close to being drunk enough to deal with this. "I'm messing with you. I told you, it's not your fucking fault, okay? Some drunk guy you barely know starts spilling his guts and then kisses you? You don't owe him anything."

"Should I say something to him? You think? Like on Monday?"

"Did you hear anything I just said?"

Adam sighed, turning his head to look at Ronan. "I still feel bad. I just don't know, man. I've never had to deal with anything like this before. I've never had to...turn someone down like that."

Ronan turned to look at Adam sharply, arching an eyebrow.

"What?" Adam furrowed his.

"Adam," Ronan said. "You can't be serious."

"Serious..." Adam blinked, "about what?"

Ronan sighed heavily. It was time to decide what to do with all the information he'd been accumulating ever since that day in class when Brock Davenport made a glorious ass of himself.

"Adam," Ronan said again. "Listen."

 

* * *

 

 

"You're out of your mind." Adam's stomach was sore with laughter.

"It's fucking true." Ronan insisted adamantly. "I mean, what did you think was happening? The guy was asking you to cut his hair for him."

"He was being a dick." Adam said, catching his breath. "You're crazy."

"You're oblivious." Ronan sighed. "And that one wasn't even as bad as that day Sebastian had you pinned in the courtyard."

"Oh, come on." Adam shook his head. "I mean, sure, that was..." Adam had a hazy recollection of that day. Sebastian's hawk-like gaze on him, his lips pressed up against his deaf ear, the odd invitations.

"Weird." he finally settled on.

"Desperate, more like." Ronan snorted. "Brock was its own level of embarrassing but, Jesus, I thought Seb was gonna start sucking your dick right there on the spot."

Adam made a scoffing sound, his cheeks going warm at the words  _suck_  and  _dick_  coming out of Ronan's mouth in reference to him.

"The worst, though," Ronan said, "was that pathetic little sophomore who I'm sure jerks it to you every night."

"Wait, who?"

"The  _artist_." Ronan emphasized sarcastically.

"Peter?" Adam's eyes widened with disbelief. "Don't be stupid. He's just a nice kid who needed a favor."

Ronan rolled his eyes. "He could have asked anyone in school, Adam. You think it was just a coincidence he came to you about a project in which he'd get to stare your naked torso for hours on end?"

Adam opened his mouth and closed it. He recounted his interactions with Peter, all of which Peter had been a bit shy, overly excitable, accommodating. That didn't really mean he harbored some secret crush on him, did it?

"You're seeing things that aren't there," Adam told Ronan. "Especially with Peter."

"I wasn't seeing things with Tad, obviously."

Adam scoffed loudly. "Oh you saw that one coming too, then? Maybe you should move into Blue's house, since you're such a damned psychic all of a sudden."

"I don't need to be psychic to be able to tell when someone is into you."

"Oh?" Adam raised an eyebrow. "And why is that?"

Ronan looked away. Adam swallowed. The humor suddenly sucked out of the air. This thing between Ronan and him, what was it? Was it even a thing at all? Adam spent the better part of days sometimes considering this. The two of them had grown closer, sure, but was that just because of the circumstances that seemed to keep throwing them together? Had it been merely out of necessity? Or was there something more to it? Was the closeness, the intimacy, strictly platonic? The idea of Ronan  _liking_  him was too ridiculous to think about for prolonged periods of time, yet he found himself going back to the notion constantly. It was a weary war within himself. Some days he was certain Ronan had...a thing...for him. Which flattered him to the point of nausea. Some days he was sure he was doing just that, flattering himself. Ronan was just being his ever infuriating enigmatic self. And that was all there was to it. And he'd wade into a state of melancholy, which was the most disconcerting thing of all.

If it had been Ronan tonight, and not Tad— Adam suddenly sucked in his breath, the idea of Ronan Lynch's lips on his throwing him momentarily off kilter.

If it had been Ronan, Adam didn't think he would have reacted the way that he did.

He shook off the uncomfortable sensations these thoughts were bringing on. It was pointless to think about this, anyway. Even if Ronan did feel the way Adam sometimes suspected, he wouldn't ever act on them. They were friends, in a group of friends no less, and messing with that dynamic wouldn't amount to anything good. Adam was lucky things were finally getting back to a place of normalcy with Blue. He suddenly briefly imagined the idea of dating Ronan, properly dating him. Going out to eat together, buying each other presents, doing all sorts of romantic things, only to have some big dramatic break up. Probably over something stupid Adam had done. Or simply because Ronan got bored with him. Realized he wasn't anything special, after all. Regardless, the fallout from that relationship would be  _nuclear_.

He couldn't help but laugh.

"What's funny?" Ronan asked.

Adam closed his eyes. "Your face."

 

* * *

 

 

Ronan couldn't recall a time he felt this comfortable inside his own skin.

Odd, since Adam's bed was just about the most uncomfortable place he'd ever been.

Seriously, the floor was better than this piece of shit. He would have said that to Adam but then Adam would have probably made some comment about him getting on the floor, then, and Ronan didn't want to move.

He wanted to stay exactly like this for as long as possible. His side pressed easily up against Adam's as they talked the hours of night into the past. Just talking. About everything. Laughing. There was something between them now, something separate from what the five of them had. Maybe he shouldn't like that, shouldn't even want it, but he did.

It was bittersweet, to be this  _close_  to Adam, in every sense of the word. About every 25 minutes he had to physically stop him from rolling over and kissing him. He was so close. He was right there. But having two people confess their secret gay love to you in one night just seemed a little too much for Adam to have to deal with.  _Fuck Tad_ , Ronan thought mildly, because he did feel a pang of sympathy for the guy. But still,  _fuck him_.

In the middle of something he was saying, he turned to look at Adam, who hadn't spoken or made a noise in regard to his very hilarious story in some time and was surprised to see his eyes were softly closed, his breathing deep and even.

 _Prick_ , he immediately thought, for passing out in the middle of his hilarious story.

He supposed he should leave now. It would be weird to stay. Really weird. He couldn't just lay here and watch Adam  _sleep_. That was pretty much universally agreed upon by humans everywhere as the creepiest thing ever.

But he wanted to stay. He wanted to watch. He wanted to reach out touch his face, his hair, pull him close. But that would  _definitely_  be creepy as fuck. He needed to get out of here.

As soon as he made the move to get up, Adam stirred, rolling over fully onto his side and flush against Ronan. Nearly on top of him. His head had come up onto his shoulder, his arm halfway around his waist.

Ronan went very, very, very still.

Adam's fingers dug into Ronan's shirt. "Stay," he mumbled sleepily.

Ronan didn't move. His insides felt like a pinball machine. What was this, what  _was_  this? What did Adam want him to do? Stay, it appeared. But other than that? Did he want  _more_? And what about tomorrow? Was Ronan supposed to leave before Adam woke up? Pretend it never happened? Jesus, this was ridiculous.

And suddenly, he realized, he actually didn't fucking care.

 _I love Adam Parrish_ , Ronan shamelessly let himself think the words out loud in his head for the first time.

And if Adam wanted him to stay, then he would stay. Whatever Adam wanted tomorrow, he would give it to him. If Adam didn't want the things that Ronan did, then he'd get the fuck over it. This thing they had right now...it was good, whatever it was, it was good. The best thing he'd had in a long time. Maybe ever. And Adam's presence in his life, even if it never passed beyond the realm of friendship, was all that mattered.

But God, he could get used to this. The feeling, the warmth of Adam against him. The weight of him. The rhythmic cadence of his breath. He felt like he could fall asleep like this. Ronan had known bad dreams before he'd known how to walk, but with Adam Parrish curled against him, nightmares seemed like a foreign concept.

With that blissfully stupid thought, Ronan closed his eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

"And furthermore," Donovan Yates raged on, "it's totally embarrassing for you to argue such a false equivalent—"

"Oh my God!" Thomas Whittaker yanked at the sleeves of his friends as he pulled them all to the ground, rather conveniently, behind a large set of bushes directly across the street from where a spectacular display was taking place.

"Ow!" Peter Mirchandi complained while Donovan let out a classic, "what the hell, Whitt?"

"Shhhhhh!" Thomas hissed. He pointed silently across the street to where an enviable BMW was parked, with two boys standing outside of it, making out in a way that could only be described as  _furious_.

"Holy shit." Donovan whispered.

Peter could only gape at the scene, his cheeks flushing hot. He felt his stomach drop with an embarrassing thunk of jealousy.

"I  _told_  you," he said simply to his friends. "What did I tell you?"

"I've never seen two guys kiss before," Thomas said, a note of mysticism in his voice.

"How does it feel?" Donovan asked, deadpan.

"Oddly transfixing." Thomas replied.

"Gross," Donovan scoffed.

"Oh, it's gross for two guys to kiss?" Thomas seemed elated he wasn't the one saying something offensive, for once.

"Of course not," Donovan spat. "It's gross you're fetishizing it."

"I am not fetishizing it," Thomas argued. "I think it's sweet."

Peter let their bickering fade into background noise. He was oddly transfixed himself, though he  _had_  seen two boys kiss before. In the countless movies he watched and deleted from his Netflix history (it was a family account), in the pornography he pretended he was too prudish to indulge in. But he'd never quite seen anyone, regardless of gender, kiss like this.

Ronan Lynch was holding onto Adam Parrish's face with both hands, his eyes shut so tightly and jaw clenched so hard he almost looked like he was in pain. Adam's hands were on Ronan's hips, his fingers digging in, like holding onto Ronan was the only thing keeping him tethered to this Earth. Another hot spike of jealousy shot through him. It wasn't that he wanted to kiss Adam. Well, okay, that was just a lie. But who wouldn't? Peter just wanted to  _kiss_. He wanted to touch someone. Like that. Kiss someone like that. Be wanted like that. 

He had absolutely no idea what that felt like. To be so precious to another person. 

"Uh oh." he heard Thomas whisper beside him.

"What?" He broke away, blinking.

"You've got that look."

"What look?"

"The look that means you need gelato and sad girl pop songs stat." Donovan supplied.

Peter frowned at them. "I do not."

"Oh, Dani." Thomas grinned at him. "I'm sorry I said they were sweet. They're actually really gross. Both of them. You can do better. Who needs that Adam guy? I mean, he probably can't even afford to buy you stuff. And what's the point of having a boyfriend if he doesn't buy you nice stuff? Am I right?"

Peter looked amusedly to Donovan, who just shook his head. "I'm not even going there."

He leaned in to clasp his wonderful friends around their necks, kissing Thomas on the forehead, then Donovan.

"You're right," Peter told Thomas. Donovan raised an eyebrow. "About one thing," he clarified. "I don't need anyone but the two of you."

Thomas and Donovan both beamed at him. He loved his friends more than anything in the world. No one, he was very certain, had better friends than he did.

"And," Peter said, "About the gelato. You were also right about the gelato. Let's go."


End file.
